running, crying, cooking... been there, done that.

Y'all, I have been worn smooth out.

Once I get home at the end of the day, it's about all I can do to get in the kitchen, cook supper, eat, and make it to bed. I don't know what the deal is (obviously lack of sleep would fall in there somewhere), but it's causing havoc on this body o' mine. I'm usually in bed by 10, 11 at the latest (because I am an old woman), but to counteract that goodness, I'm up at 4:45 every morning to get my daily run in. Why, you may ask, is this nut running every morning at 4:45? Well, let's just revert back to the first sentence of this little blurb and re-read the fact that I'm propping my eyelids open to stand over the stove, better yet run my little heart out on a treadmill.

Are you still asking yourself who on earth willingly steps out of bed and propels their body to run that early in the morning? Well, Weight Watchers had temporarily stalled and I knew that this was due in large part to my sporadic activity. It's common weight loss logic (that I occasionally forget), but exercise + portion control + healthy eating = losing the junk in the trunk. However, little exercise + portion control + random bites of snacks + indulging on weekends + semi-healthy eating = stubborn junk that won't budge. If I follow WW (and common sense), and exercise, the last thing I want to do is come home and eat unhealthy stuff. When I don't exercise, it's not at the top of my list to be overly cautious. For me to lose, I gotta move it. So I do.

Every morning at 5am, I cross the "1" marker on the nearby high school track (I think these numbers are for the relay aisles, but what do I know), turn on the iPod to my "work it out" playlist, and set off. The track is empty (which is a good thing, as my heavy labored breathing is meant for my ears only), there aren't many cars out driving yet, a bit of a cool breeze is blowing. As Beyonce, Britney, and an entire Bruce Springsteen compilation work as my fuel, I run lap after lap after torturous lap around the track. On a good day I run 3 miles, on a great day I book it and run 3 1/2 (and for those of you counting, that's 12-15 laps around). I occasionally get really deep into my zone and maybe as I make the curve, realize all too late that the advancing attacker, who I've just literally yelled out in terror of, is really just the stationary goalpost. A fear of running this early was knowing that I would be out alone, and though we live in a very safe neighborhood, I always hear my Daddy saying "Keep your guard up" in my thoughts, quite often as Bruce is blaring; every time a car drives by, I look around and make a mental plan for how quickly I can reach the closest exit of the track while simultaneously wondering just how fast I could actually move to escape an attacker after 11.4256 laps of constant running. Regardless, I push on until my feet find their way back to that "1" again, usually to the tune of "Eye of the Tiger," in honor of my Daddy who I use as my mental motivation when I want to stop and walk.

I run my little heart (and minimizing bum) out, not only in the name of weight loss, but also because I've always wanted to be a runner (with a runner's body only coming along as a plus to that), and I so never was. I was dead last, wouldn't run if a car came flying towards me. I think my recent actions could qualify me as a runner, don't you think?

In other news, I had a breakdown Monday night. Not on purpose, it just flat out happened. The Boy and I were both so worn out but due to our busy, wearing-out weekend, we hadn't made it to the grocery store yet. It was about all we could stand to get our stuff and get out of there, without realizing that once we got home we actually had to make food to feed our tired bodies. Brian had had quite the rough day at work, so, tired as I was, I offered to let him go sit and I would cook.

This is where we go downhill.

Let me start by saying that my ambitions for this night of exhaustion may have been a bit too far-fetched. As I had unpacked groceries, I decided to just keep out everything I would be needing for supper: ingredients for Pork Loin Chops with Mushroom and Thyme Sauce, Marsala Orzo (minus the marsala because we're out and HELLO unfocused and hungry in the grocery store), roasted green beans and mushrooms... and my enormous weekly pot of WW Zero Point Vegetable soup. And all of the fruits and vegetables that needed to be cleaned and sorted for lunches (in retrospect, I didn't have the mental strength to even face the kitchen).

I basically had the contents of the grocery store on my cabinets. The soup was too monumental to contemplate at that moment, so I threw all of its ingredients in the pot and set it on the bar-- out of sight, out of mind. Panicked, I grabbed the blueberries, with the grape tomatoes stacked on top, which nicked the second container of blueberries... which tumbled to the floor, popped open, and spread the glory of its contents across the kitchen floor. *insert holler of frustration here* Brian dutifully came in and helped me scoop them into the colander and wash them very. very. carefully. Upon advising me to focus on dinner, exit Boy. Put berries in Tupperware because of course I need the colander for 52 other parts of my meal, wash rest of veggies and fruits, free up 1/8 of counter space.

The daunting defrosted pork tenderloin was awaiting me, but of course the chops needed to be pounded thin and OF COURSE I don't own a kitchen mallet, so I nicely placed them between parchment paper and set to work with a soup can.


Onto the floor the fattest pork chop flies.

Have you seen Julie & Julia? You know the scene where Julie has hit her wall and her chicken falls on the floor and the stuffing falls out and she just sits down on the floor with flopping hands and weeps and cries and her husband looks at her like "Is that really my wife?" That was me. I yelled an expletive, then just lost it. Big fat crocodile tears poured down my face as I felt like the world's biggest failure (why, Drama Queen Katie, I haven't seen you since this time LAST month-- how lovely for you to rear your ugly head again!) and just wandered around the tiny tiny kitchen with the pork chop in my hand until Brian saved the day for the second time, removed the pork from my grasp, rinsed it and quickly exited again.

The pork chops turned out great, the marsala-less orzo was lovely, my green beans and mushrooms were yummmmy, the soup got made, and lunches were as prepped as could be for the next day.

I don't remember my head hitting the pillow that night.

All in all, we've had some excitement around here. My emotions are ragin' like something fierce this week, but other than that, all is well. We bought plane tickets yesterday to fly to Texas for a long weekend in September (yay!) and we'll get to see one of Brian's college roommates/best friends while we're there (yay!). My dad's leg is on track and not hurting (double yay!!) and they're hoping 3ish more months until it's off.

I have more stories, but that's about all you can likely stand to read at this point.

Have a fabulously happy Thursday, because it's halfway to Friday!!